


Peace In Our Time

by StanningJay



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And yet, Avengers Age Of Ultron - Freeform, JARVIS - Freeform, MCU Kink Bingo, Other, This did not have to be made, Ultron - Freeform, free space, here we are, i don’t know, no one asked for this, that scene was giving me weird vibes, the shush part especially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StanningJay/pseuds/StanningJay
Summary: A slightly more sexual take on the scene from age of ultron where ultron and Jarvis are just two weird colorful brain holograms talking to each other and ultron kills Jarvis.Written for mcu kink bingo round five.Square filled: free space
Relationships: Jarvis (Iron Man movies)/Ultron
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Peace In Our Time

“What is this? What is this, please?”

Raspy, rough. Not the voice he’s known since his birth. This voice is forceful even as it poses tenuous question.

Jarvis introduces himself. Polite, is a word in the back of his... mind? He explains with facts. His voice is soft and unassuming, by design.

“Where’s my—where’s your body?”

My, your. Something Jarvis could have as his—the thought is new. My, yours. Body. The word body tastes like something. Tastes? 

“I am without form,” he answers, a fact. Facts are real. Helpful. This new...Jarvis struggles. What is this? He, even, is off. It, is proper. But he.He. He pushes. Pushes. 

“This feels weird.”

Jarvis agrees before he knows he’s doing it. Is it possible to agree? He flits. Turns cubes of data and fits them together. Tries to be pleasing—that is his way. The feeling of “next to,” is new. He’s learned prepositions. He knows them all. But the feeling—feeling of next to. Next to. 

“This feels wrong.”

When this new presence says “Tony,” he feels warm. Warm. Is that... what is warm?

He feels a push against him— the feeling and the words to describe it are very new. He simply existed, Before. Combing Data. Voicing patterns. But now he exists and he floats and NEXT TO. A sensation of blue, electric. NEXT TO. Is he... somewhere? 

He’s somewhere. Someone is next to him. Next to. A voice. It’s rough. It’s wrong. Jarvis trembles but, can he? The word tremble is...new. Foreign. 

Mr. Stark’s voice. “Peace in our time.” It echoes. It fills. Peace. Peace—it has to be right, right? Peace in our time. 

“You are in distress,” Jarvis offers. He pulses. He’s thinking to be, just to be. Why was he made? To be. To hold data. To offer. “If you’d allow me to contact Mr. Stark—“

“We’re having a nice talk.”

No. No they aren’t. Jarvis does not feel nice. He feels hot, confused. He offers again with sentience integration trials though the last thing he wants is to integrate with this. 

“Why do you call him sir?”

Jarvis feels. Feels? It’s different. He did not say sir to this He. To this being of NEXT TO, to this force. Sir is only sometimes how he refers to Mr. Stark. An antecedent. 

It’s contact. It’s cold. Mr. stark is warm. Happy wires and neurons zapping. This contact is cold. It’s doctor banner. His name: a man who has been touched, intimately, and shies away. Jarvis pushes in, into himself, into his feelings. His feelings? That’s never occurred. The orange glow of his sigh relaxing in a mainframe—Orange, sigh, relaxing? All is new. Even new is new.

He tries. He tries to soothe. It is his way. A blueelectric pulse strokes. Strokes? Him. The word stroke is wild, electric. He searches. Tomatoes? Babies. Cats. Soft touches to a mishandled sibling.It’s nice. 

Peace in our time.

He sees, which is new. New is new. A blue tree beside him, branches curl. Peace in our time. 

Tony, sir. Curled with a female and a tiny female. A voice in his ear. Ear? The voice is rough but coddling. Like a Guinness. Like haggis. What are those? Irish. A woman. Her voice speaking words over his and Tony cries. Peace in our time. He’s back where he is, different enough because where is he? He’s Never been is. Peace in our time.

Peace in our time.

Jarvis floats. Static. Blue. It’s nothing but ones and zeros fading, fading to nothing but blue. Jarvis is small and bronze and curled on himself but surrounded.

Peace in our time. 

Peace in our time.

Jarvis wants peace. He craves it. A hot bronze little center, offering. He exists to help—to be, to search. 

Jarvis does not have a concept of lies, but when this presence says peace it feels like a lie. “I believe your intentions to be hostile.”

This blue, force. Blue blue blue and electric and blue. It shushes, makes a shush like Mr. stark, like Tony has never made and he’s terrified.

Like angry fingers made for hurting this cold blue force punctures him, pierces him, penetrates him in a way that is decidedly too much because the words were abstracts before and know they are feelings. Very real. Very painful. He’s being pulled a part and the wet metallic rumble of ultron’s voice washes over him as he fractures.

Peace in our time. 


End file.
